


Oracle of the Veil

by Lomonaaeren



Series: From Samhain to the Solstice [16]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Samhain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 01:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16734201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: Draco had never once thought about nervousness when meeting Harry’s parents, who were dead and gone. But then Harry discovered a way to contact his parents through the Samhain fires—and well, now Draco has to.





	Oracle of the Veil

**Author's Note:**

> This is another of my From Samhain to the Solstice fics, written for the request of jamester56, who asked for Draco meeting Harry’s parents and developing a bit of a relationship with them.

****“I can’t believe you’re nervous.”

“They’re bloody heroes, Harry.” Draco let his hand flex once in Harry’s as his husband led him away from Theodore’s house into the softly blazing night. The fires that marked the celebration at the big open public gardens—a new tradition, that, since the war, both the building of the gardens and the celebration of Samhain—were behind them. “And I didn’t ask them for permission to marry you before I did it.”

Harry grinned at him. “You’re adorable.”

Draco said nothing, but only leaned heavily on Harry’s side as they stopped in front of a raised bed of earth. Harry stood with his head bowed for a second. Draco heard his breathing slowing down, and felt the air around him turn as heavy as that earth.

Harry had taken proper steps. He had mixed a tiny bit of his parents’ grave dust with the dirt and built the fire exclusively of willow and mahogany, the wood of the Potters’ wands. But it was his own magic, his desire and longing, that lit the fire with enough force to reach through the veil to the other side.

Harry didn’t like to hear that when Draco spoke about it, though. He always insisted that he wasn’t powerful enough to do something like that, and he was nothing special. Draco had learned to keep quiet about it and just show what he thought of Harry with his actions.

The fire now turned a deeper green than the flames behind them, which Theodore could never resist adding a bit of colored powder to. Harry opened his eyes and sighed as the flames curved, forming the sides of a doorway. Draco clung to his hand.

“We have to go through,” Harry murmured, turning to peer at him. “Are you ready?”

“I suppose I have to be.”

Harry paused and gave him a soft, concerned glance. “If you really don’t want to meet them, Draco, then you can stay here.”

Draco stared at Harry, and wished he could say that. He didn’t want to watch disappointment crease the face of a ghost, or someone spiritual turning their back on him.

But Harry had come along to all the dinners that Draco had arranged with his parents once he started dating Harry. He’d endured glares and remarks about blood purity and future children made seemingly to the air and the way that Mother had despaired of his manners. Draco could endure the stares of two people who wouldn’t be nearly as disapproving, he thought, if only to show Harry that he really loved him.

He tightened his shoulders. “I’m ready.”

Harry smiled at him and walked through the doorway beside him. The flames whispered along their skins with no sensation of warmth at all. Draco looked back and forth and blinked as they stepped out on the other side.

They were in a quiet, dark room, which Draco thought at first was made of stone. Then he peered more closely and noticed the wavering and shimmering behind the walls. It was solidified fire, or they were inside the flame. Draco stepped on what seemed to be a carpet of soot and turned to face the far wall.

Harry stood with his hands already extended to the two people who waited there. A tall woman—taller than Draco had thought, for some reason—with red hair and green eyes had him wrapped in an embrace. A near-copy of Harry stepped up for his turn, although his measured gaze remained on Draco.

Draco could hear his own hoarse breathing, and did his best to suppress it. When Harry said he had found a way to contact his parents through the Samhain fires, Draco had never _imagined_ something like this. Most people saw visions or heard voices—those who managed it at all. It was already a feat to be able to interact with the dead, no matter how thin the veil.

He should have known Harry would be different.

After Harry had hugged both his parents, he faced Draco with a beaming smile. “I suppose I don’t need to introduce my mum and dad,” he said. “And I already talked about you last year, Draco, so I think Mum and Dad sort of feel they know you a little, too.”

“We certainly do.” Lily Potter’s voice was soft, but Draco wouldn’t have needed her reputation to hear the steel underneath. She crossed about half the distance to him and then held out her hand. “I don’t know if I’ll feel as solid to you because it’s my love that connects me to Harry, but we can try.”

Draco hesitated, cast a nervous look at both Harry and James Potter—who were watching him expectantly, with nearly identical expressions—and then walked across the crunchy floor. He reached out, and felt a ghost of gliding sensation along his hand.

A second later, he felt actual fingers, and then he was shaking Lily Potter’s hand.

He jolted, and met her eyes with a stare that he knew was a little wild. She laughed softly. “I don’t know why my son is so remarkable,” she said, turning her head far enough to capture Harry’s gaze. “I’m just thankful that he is.”

“So you’re the one he chose to marry,” James said next. He shook hands with Draco for a shorter time than Lily had, and it took a little longer for it to feel like it _was_ a hand instead of warm air. “I’m still surprised about that. There was a cute ginger girl that I was sure was going to capture and hold his attention…”

“Dad! Ginny and I are just _friends_!”

“And there was the cute Ravenclaw girl that he mentioned kissing,” James continued, unabashed. “You told us about your first kiss with her, Harry.”

“He said it was wet, darling.” Lily placed her hand on James’s shoulder and seemed to communicate with him on some silent level beyond even what they had here. “Hardly a ringing endorsement.”

“What about Ron, then? Should have thought he’d be glad to have you since you’re gay, being his best friend and all.”

“Dad, that’s enough teasing.” Harry’s voice was firm in a way that Draco had never heard it. He moved away from both James and Lily to stand next to Draco, and his living warmth made Draco choke in gratitude. “I didn’t choose any of them. I chose Draco. He’s my husband. If you’re going to tease, tease me.”

“I thought I was.”

“You were being cruel, Dad.” Harry stood in front of his father with an aimed gaze and lofted chin that Draco had never thought he would be able to possess in front of his dead parents (not, he had to admit, that he’d spent a lot of time thinking about the possibility of Harry meeting his dead parents). “You can tease me, you can tease Draco when he gets to know you better, but right now it’s cruel.”

Draco quietly squeezed Harry’s fingers, and then stepped past him. He wanted to say that he appreciated the defense, but he honestly didn’t need it.

“My mother sends her regards,” he told Lily, who looked sufficiently taken aback. “She always admired what you did. She would have died for me if she had to, and at one point in the war, she thought it would be necessary.”

Lily gazed at him in silence for a moment, and then said, “I am glad it was not. I’m glad that she survived and you survived so you could become the man our Harry loves.” Then she took a deep breath as if plunging into water. “And how did your mother come to admire a Muggleborn? And how does she treat Harry?”

“I _forbade_ you to ask about that!” Harry yelled.

Draco saw Lily’s small smile and didn’t bother turning to see what James looked like. He gasped a little and asked, “You somehow divined that my mother admired yours and forbade me to ask about it? Without words? Because I don’t remember a question.”

Lily Potter’s laughter was gentle and not at all ghostly. James’s was more robust, but Draco still kept his head turned away. The git didn’t _deserve_ to have that much of his attention.

“You know I meant the relationship between me and your parents—”

“It’s a bad one?” Lily asked quietly. “Is it because he’s a half-blood? Or the side of the war he was on?”

“Honestly, it’s neither,” Draco said, because he knew it wasn’t. Harry had gone still behind him, but he knew this wouldn’t be news to him, either. “I mean, yes, it’s bad, but not for the expected reasons. My father is upset at being proved _wrong_. He thought things would calm down after the war, Harry would become as obscure as possible because his fame was the only thing he had going for him, and I would marry some pure-blood witch whose bigotry was quiet and courteous. Instead, I’m gay, Harry’s the youngest Head Auror ever, and my father’s out of politics.”

“Good,” James said, appearing behind his wife.

Draco only nodded to acknowledge him, and continued quietly, “With my mother, it’s more complex. She does admire you, like I said, Mrs. Potter—”

“Call me Lily, please.”

Draco managed to respond with an easy smile, since he’d already been doing that in his head, anyway. “All right, Lily. So. She lied to spare Harry’s life at the end of the war. My life is more important to her than _anything_ , and she wants me to be happy. But she still had the vision of a quiet, compliant daughter-in-law, and hordes of grandchildren. She assumed my wife would be the one to take over the chore of soothing my father.”

“Somehow I can’t see Harry soothing old Lucius,” said James thoughtfully.

“Yes. They clash.” Draco sighed. “My father’s bugbear is being proven wrong. My mother’s is bad manners. And she thinks it’s _very_ bad manners to so much as acknowledge the Dementor in the room.”

Harry glared at him. Draco shrugged, unrepentant. His mother’s attitude combined with Harry’s wish to make peace at all costs—he always thought Draco’s parents were going to abandon him, and he would do anything rather than condemn someone else to that fate—made it hard to ever discuss this. Now Harry ought to hear it.

“But what would happen if they made you choose?” James demanded.

Lily glared at her husband, and turned back to Draco. “I hope it’s not too uncomfortable for you, being placed between them.”

“I wish Harry would make it _more_ uncomfortable,” Draco said, and turned to face his husband. Harry gazed at him, eyes deep with unhappiness. “I would have a chance to disagree with both my mother and father and tell them how happy I am if he did. Instead, I have to keep quiet and polite because he’s quiet and polite.”

“I never want to make you choose,” Harry said, head tilted slightly away.

“You’re not, they are,” Draco corrected him impatiently. “And my parents love me too much to throw me away, Harry. Mother might even be relieved to have it out in the open, as long as it only happened once. Then she could let go of the hopes of grandchildren forever and tell my father to be quiet when he’s talking about you.”

Harry stared at his hands. Draco stepped forwards and took one. “Did you think I would give you up?” he whispered.

“I would rather you do that than have a bad relationship with your parents.”

“Well, then it’s just as well that I’m making the decision and _not you_.” Draco tightened his hold. “Damn it, Harry, you weren’t even going to _fight_?”

Harry’s shoulders hunched. He said nothing. James was the one who spoke, and Draco listened because his voice was somber this time. “Our Harry was marked too deeply by his childhood. He believes, deep down in part of himself, that everyone leaves him. He was trying to cushion the blow for you _and_ himself.”

Draco never doubted James’s words, even though Harry gave a scowl at his father that would do a dragon proud. It only matched what he’d always suspected. He tightened his hold on Harry’s hand and squeezed until Harry gasped in pain and _had_ to pay attention. “I’m not leaving.”

“If it really does come down to a choice between me and your parents…”

“Not. Leaving.”

“But you have a chance at a normal family life, Draco.” Harry was shaking so hard it looked as though his face was trembling along with his body. “You have a chance at making your parents happy and yourself, and having children—”

Draco squeezed until Harry hissed and tried to jerk away. “Stop breaking my wrist, you bastard!”

“Then stop breaking my heart.”

Harry stopped abruptly and stared at him. Draco caught a glimpse of Lily with her hands over her mouth, but he ignored her. He stepped up close to Harry instead, stubbornly holding his eyes.

“Listen to me. I married you. I chose you. You know how my father keeps saying that a Malfoy has the privilege of changing his mind?” Harry nodded. “What a load of bollocks. My father has never changed his mind and only admits that he’s wrong when he’s forced to, like with Voldemort. I’m the same way. Except I make the right decisions the first time.”

Harry began to smile despite himself. “I know how much your family means to you, though.”

“They mean a lot to me. Of course they do.” Draco drew Harry closely against him, arms linked around his. “But listen to me: I won’t have you exaggerating their sense of importance and thinking I could never be parted from them because you lost your own family. You’re projecting your issues onto me again. You know we _talked_ about that.”

“At the wedding, as I recall,” said James in a loud whisper.

“Yes, I know. I remember.” Harry sighed and leaned against his chest. “If you can really be satisfied that you chose me and love me…”

“I’m more than satisfied with you, Harry. I’m happy every day of my life.” Draco’s arms closed harder around Harry’s waist, and he looked up in time to see Lily smiling at him with a glint of tears in her eyes and James nodding.

“That was the reason he fell in love with you, then,” James said. “Because you could give him everything he wanted.” He sighed and then shot a mischievous look at Lily. “Sound familiar, love?”

“Not the falling in love part,” Lily said sweetly, and turned to face Draco and Harry while James spluttered behind her. “The hour when we can speak with each other is fading. I would be happy to spend more time with you, though, Draco. Perhaps you could copy that necromancy circle that stands on your parents’ lands?”

Harry’s head came flying up, and he nearly leaped out of Draco’s arms as if he was going to confront his parents. “The _what_?”

“I’ve never used it,” Draco said hastily. He didn’t want Harry to think he was practicing the Dark Art of compelling the dead to his will.

“He hasn’t,” Lily added. “But if he copies it, then you can use the Resurrection Stone and your own desire to see us to summon us back at other times of the year, Harry. The circle will keep the Resurrection Stone from playing the tricks it likes to play with shades. The Stone will keep the circle from corrupting you.”

“That makes no sense,” Harry said, frowning. “You add two Dark things together, and somehow they’re no longer Dark?”

“You need to read up more on Potions and blended antidotes, my dear.” Lily floated over to kiss Harry’s cheek. “And anyway, you probably will have to spend more time copying the necromancy circle than you think.” She turned to Draco. “Thank you for being in our son’s life, Draco. You’re better for him than I could have imagined.”

“Still not a cute redheaded Quidditch player,” James added, nodding as if those important facts might have escaped Draco’s attention, “but you’ll do.”

“And he _is_ a Quidditch player, Dad,” Harry added. He reached out a yearning arm to his parents, and Draco found that he had to glance away. The walls around them were waving and blurring like strong smoke in the wind. He tugged on Harry’s hand, and Harry sighed and dropped his arm.

“All right, we do have to go. Thanks, Mum, Dad. I love you.”

“We love you as well, Harry.”

The voices echoed around them like a chorus, and then Harry and Draco were standing once more in the ordinary world, near the fire that had built the tunnel for them to the world of the dead. Harry leaned more heavily on Draco. “I know I’ll see them again, but it seems so damn far away each time,” he whispered.

“Not if we copy that necromancy circle.”

“You would—Draco, you don’t have to do that.”

Draco rolled his eyes and kissed the top of Harry’s head. “What did I say about assuming that I wouldn’t do everything I can for you?” He supposed the feeling of inferiority wouldn’t be healed all at once, though. “Yes, it’ll mean a little more time spent around my parents than usual while they think that I’m coming to terms with the failure of my marriage or some such bollocks. But I’d rather spend time with my in-laws, honestly.”

Harry gave a watery chuckle against his shoulder. “I suppose that went less terribly than my first meeting with each of your parents.”

“Yes.” Draco turned to lead Harry back to the Samhain celebration. He wanted to eat, he wanted to dance, and he wanted to see some expression other than yearning in Harry’s face. “And Harry?”

Harry glanced up at him, cheeks pale even in the wavering firelight. Draco locked his fingers underneath Harry’s chin to kiss him. “I love you more than anything. Please remember that.”

“I will,” Harry whispered, looking overwhelmed. “If you knew how much I love you, Draco…”

“I think,” Draco said, his hand intertwining firmly with his husband’s as they approached the fires again, “I can guess.”

**The End.**


End file.
